Drabble challenge
by jlm110108
Summary: This is the same challenge Jelsemium participated in on another Numb3rs website.  The object was to write 100 words or more in 15 minutes, using a keyword that was randomly selected.  They're silly, they're fun, and they were written quickly!  Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Keyword: "Decontamination"

408 words

16 minutes (not counting proofreading and editing) (So shoot me. I went over the limit.)

Don had become accustomed to the chaos that was his brother's house. But when he knocked on the door and was met by a tearful Amita holding a sobbing Mara in one arm and a wailing Andie in the other, he knew this was something new and different.

"Amita," he raised his voice to be heard over Andie's wails. He took Mara from her arm. "You look like you're about ready to collapse. What's wrong."

Mara sniffed loudly and buried her snotty, teary face in Don's shoulder. "I wanned ootube," she wailed. "Tooky monster!"

"What?" Don looked at Amita, confused.

"She wanted to watch Youtube. She and Charlie..."

At the mention of her father's name, Mara wailed even louder. "Dada! I sowwy!!!"

Don patted his niece's back and murmured, "It's okay, Baby. Shhhhh."

"Not baby," Mara's indignant voice was muffled.

Don looked at Amita, who wiped her eyes and continued. "You know who was busy, and she decided to help herself."

Don glanced down, noticing for the first time that his formerly clean dress shirt was now smeared with peanut butter. "I'll straighten him out. Where is he?"

"In the garage."

Don handed Mara back to Amita and strode bravely into the lion's den. Charlie was hunched over his desk, his back to the door. He was muttering profanities as he typed frantically. He jumped when Don touched his shoulder. "What?!" He turned, and blushed. "Sorry. I'm in the middle of decontaminating my computer. I have to catch it before this damned Trojan horse contaminates the rest of the network."

"Trojan horse? I thought the problem was peanut butter."

Charlie snorted mirthlessly. "The peanut butter part was easy. Apparently those little peanut butter fingers clicked on a cute little picture of Cookie Monster and, well, the rest is history." He turned the screen so Don could see it. The screen was filled with dozens of dancing Cookie Monsters performing obscene acts on each other.

Don laughed. "Is that all it is! Poor Mara is crying her eyes out in there. What did you do to her?"

"Well, I certainly didn't hit her if that's what you're implying. I may have screamed loudly enough to be heard in four counties."

Don rubbed his face as the reality of the situation struck him. "My case files..."

Charlie waved at the screen. "They're in there somewhere. You still think it's no big deal?"

Don scowled. "You want me to bust her?"

Author's note: Thank you to StatsGrandma for letting me borrow Mara, without whom this story would not have been possible, and Andie, who deserves an Oscar for her supporting role.


	2. Used

15 minute challenge: "used"

Author's note: The first 4 paragraphs were taken directly from the Numb3rs episode "Money for Nothing." I am not benefiting in any way by stealing the wonderfully creative work of the Numb3rs team.

"I just always feel like I'm taking advantage of him, you know, like I'm using him or something."

Charlie looked from Don to Dr. Bradford, shaking his head slightly, his expression pleading, begging the doctor to ask him his opinion of what Don had just said.

"Charlie?" Dr. Bradford said softly.

Charlie thought for a moment, gazing at Don's back. "I love," he hesitated as Don turned to look at him. "I love working with my brother." He glanced at Bradford, then watched Don, waiting to see what his reaction would be.

Don's expression softened, and he smiled, sitting next to Charlie, "You were actually walking home..."

Something had broken the day Charlie accompanied Don to Dr. Bradford's office. The brothers had faced the conflict that had been a wedge between them for over twenty years. And Dr. Bradford had led them seamlessly from the past into the present when he asked Don, "How do you feel about working with Charlie now?"

Don had paced, not looking at Charlie, who sat on the couch, watching him. "I just always feel like I'm taking advantage of him, you know, like I'm using him or something."

Charlie didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The last word he would have used to describe how he felt about working with Don was "used." He blinked at the moisture that suddenly welled up in his eyes, looked from Don to Dr. Bradford, shaking his head slightly, his expression pleading, begging the doctor to ask him what he felt about it.

Bradford turned to him, "Charlie?" he said softly.

Charlie thought for a moment, gazing at Don's back. He knew this was a big moment, possibly the biggest moment in their relationship. He didn't want to blow it now. He wanted Bradford to understand, but he really needed Don to understand. He couldn't sound like the needy little brother who spent his life desperately trying to win his big brother's approval. But he needed Don to know that there was no way he ever felt used. Ever. "I love..." he hesitated as Don whirled to face him. "I love working with my brother."

At that moment, the tension had broken, Don's expression softened, and he smiled, sitting next to Charlie, "You were actually walking home..."

From that moment on, their relationship would be different. Stronger. Better. And Charlie hoped that once and for all, Don would understand. Charlie never felt used. He felt wanted.


	3. Tried

"tried"

15 minutes, 398 words

There weren't many things Charles Edward Eppes, PhD, tenured professor at the prestigious California Institute of Science, had tried and failed at. Professionally at least. He had a near miss when Marshall Penfield had challenged his Eppes Convergence, but he had managed to find a solution to the error Penfield had discovered. He had attempted – twice --- to solve P vs NP, and had failed both times. But while that was a professional failure, strictly speaking, it was more of a personal failure. Even now, several years after the last aborted attempt, he wasn't convinced he had had any serious hope of solving P vs NP. Looking back, he could see that he immersed himself in the unsolvable problem to avoid the unsolvable problems of life. He had more chance of solving P vs NP than he had of preventing his mother from dying of cancer, or keeping his brother safe. But he had tried and failed both times.

His personal life was another story altogether. He had tried to make a lasting relationship with Susan Berry. He had failed at that twice. Just like P vs NP. His first attempt at taking Amita on a non-math date had been a miserable failure. But they had managed to rescue that situation when they realized that math was a part of who they were, and attempting to craft a relationship without their math would be like trying to walk without feet.

He had tried to master the game of golf. Of course he had failed, but he had succeeded at finding something he and his father could do together. If he could keep his temper under control, he could count golf as a success.

But now he had to really step out of his comfort zone and try something truly different. His chances of failure were great. But at least he could look back and say he had tried his best. He looked to Larry for reassurance. His mentor nodded, smiling. "You can do it, Charles."

"Larry, I'm not so sure."

"Charles, you know the math inside and out. All you have to do is explain it in your own inimitable way."

Charlie sighed and stepped through the door. Mrs. Gilbert's seventh grade math students stopped yelling, dancing and arguing to look up at the newcomer. "Good morning," Charlie said. "I'm Dr. Eppes. I'll be your substitute teacher today..."


	4. somewhat

10 minutes

233 words

2 professors debating

one word.

Challenge word: "Somewhat"

"'Somewhat?' Larry! What kind of weasel word is that?" Charlie demanded. "I ask you a straightforward question and you give me an answer like 'somewhat.'" Charlie paced, more agitated than Larry had seen him in a long time.

"Well, Charles, I was concerned about what your reaction would be if I were to be brutally honest with you. And, see, you have proved me correct." Larry stood and picked up his briefcase. "And now I'm late to class. I'll see you later."

"Wait!" Charlie pleaded. "I'm sorry. I overreacted. Please, give me your honest opinion."

Larry hesitated, narrowing his eyes and studying his dear friend. "Why are you so certain that my honest opinion is NOT 'somewhat?'"

"Because, Larry, just two seconds ago, you said you were concerned about my reaction to a brutally honest answer. Therefore it follows that 'somewhat' was NOT a brutally honest answer. So, tell me. What is your brutally honest answer?"

"Now, Charles, just because an answer is not BRUTALLY honest, it does NOT necessarily follow that the answer is not honest. Therefore, 'somewhat' is just as likely to be an honest answer as it is to be a – what did you call it? -- a 'weasel word."

Charlie sighed. "All right. Point to Professor Fleinhardt. Are you saying that 'somewhat' is your honest opinion?"

Larry smiled enigmatically as he headed into the hallway. "Not necessarily."


	5. impeccable

"impeccable"

373 words

19 minutes

One follow up to "somewhat."

"Larry!" Charlie called his rapidly disappearing friend.

"Not now, Charles! We can continue this discussion after my class!" Larry said as he turned the corner. "And don't follow me! I am not going to say a single word on the matter until after my class."

Amita passed Larry, and gave Charlie a confused look. "What was that all about?"

Charlie sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. "I asked Larry a simple, straightforward question, and he is refusing to give me a straight answer."

"What was the question?"

Charlie blinked at Amita and shook his head. "No."

"What? What do you mean, 'no?'"

"It was a dumb question, and Larry was right to weasel out of answering it."

A smile spread across Amita's face. "I thought there was no such thing as a dumb question."

Charlie blushed as he turned back toward his office. "This one was pretty dumb."

Amita took his arm and leaned against him as they walked down the hall. "You can tell me. I won't tell anyone else."

Charlie took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Okay. Promise you won't laugh."

"I will try my very best not to laugh."

They walked into Charlie's office, and he closed and locked the door behind them. He turned and faced Amita, his hands on her shoulders as he stared into her eyes. "I asked him if my work could be described as impeccable."

Amita blinked. "That's an odd question. Well, let me see. Impeccable means flawless, perfect, having no fault..." She pondered for what seemed like hours, then shook her head. "I don't know Charlie. You're good, but I don't think your work could be described as perfect. Remember what Marshall Penfield did to your Eppes Convergence a couple of years ago. He discovered a flaw."

"True," Charlie said, slowly smiling. "So you'd say my work is ... somewhat impeccable?"

"No, I don't think that's possible. Something can't be somewhat perfect. It either is or it isn't."

Charlie laughed and kissed her soundly on the lips. "Amita, you are wonderful! You have found the flaw in Larry's logic."

Amita shook her head. "Charlie, are the two of you ever going to grow up?"

"I hope not."


	6. Mind Games

Author's note: the challenge this time was an episode title: "Mind Games"

Charlie Eppes sat in the solarium, an open book on his lap, and a pencil in his hand. He looked up when the front door slammed. "I'm up here!" he called.

"Charlie?" Alan answered. "Where are you?"

"In the solarium."

Alan set his briefcase on the dining room table and headed up the stairs. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, really. Just playing a few mind games."

"Mind games? Like trying to mess up somebody's head?"

"No, mind games like puzzles."

"I thought those were brainteasers."

"They can be. But I prefer to call them mind games."

"You know, Son, you can't just invent your own meanings for words."

"I'm not. Just Google it."

"Oh, great. So we're now basing our use of the English language on the opinions of anonymous random internet users? Charlie, one plays mind games to mess with someone's head. You play with their mind. What you're doing is called 'brainteasers.'" Alan crossed the room so he could see the book on his son's lap. "What are you talking about, Charlie? Those aren't brainteasers. Or mind games. That's a fluid dynamics text."

Charlie closed the book and smiled. "Father, I never said this," he indicated the book "was a mind game. I was talking about this," he waved his hands, "our conversation. This whole thing. This is a mind game. Don't you agree?"

"Smart aleck," Alan said, turning and storming down the stairs. "Just for that, you can make your own supper. I'm going out."


	7. Marijuana, a sheepskin and thou

20 minute challenge. Prompt words: woman, sheepskin, marijuana

17 minutes  
422 words  
1 budding engineer

Even engineering students kick up their heels once in a while. And when those engineering students design and build the bong that was destined to become the stuff of legends, that heel kicking takes place with a good old fashioned pot party.

Alan Eppes leaned his head back and let the long soft wool of the sheepskin throw tickle his cheek. The marijuana had made him mellow. The frat brothers had insisted that, as guest of honor, Alan get the first hit, and toasted him with several more after that. Alan was no stranger to pot. He had to test his design and make a few minor tweaks before turning it over to the frat and receiving his rather hefty fee. He grinned. His first consulting fee as an engineer. He wondered if he should list that on his resume. He was giggling at that thought when the couch cushion beneath him sank.

When his eyes could focus he saw a girl. Woman, he corrected himself. Now that women's lib was in full force even junior high school kids were insisting on being called women. But this was one woman worthy of the term. Her curly light brown hair framed an intelligent face. She smiled. "Hi. Is this seat taken?"

Alan grinned. "It is now." He held out a shaky hand, "I'm Alan."

"Margaret," she said, taking his hand and giving it a strong squeeze.

"Hi, Maggie."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'll make a deal with you, Alan. You never call me Maggie again, and I won't call you Al. Okay?"

Alan held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Margaret it is, and will be forever."

"Good," she nodded,. "Now, I hear you are the genius who created that incredible bong."

"Yes, I am. I'm glad you like it."

"Let's see. You're either a shop major or engineering. From the efficient design, I'm guessing engineering."

"Very good." He studied her blue eyes closely. "And if I'm not too befuddled by the most excellent pot the frat brothers have provided, and judging from that piercing gaze you gave me a few moments ago, I do believe you are pre-law. Am I right?"

Margaret laughed. "Got it in one." She leaned back against the sheepskin, dangerously close to Alan's shoulder. "Though, in a perfect world, I would be able to make as much creating music as I will practicing law." She sighed. "But it's not a perfect world, is it, Alan?"

"No, but I think it just got a little bit closer to perfect, Margaret."


	8. Rambunctious, primarily, insert

second 20 minute challenge: rambunctious, primarily, insert  
20 minutes (not counting research time)

Author's note: This is a followup to "A Sheepskin, Marijuana and Thou."

Two peopleThree challenge prompts  
1119 words  
One budding relationship

Margaret Mann leaned back against the sheepskin throw and studied the earnest young engineering student beside her. His face left no doubt about his ethnic heritage. She could almost picture him wearing a yarmulke with those long side curls she'd seen some Jewish men wearing. Her family would be scandalized if she brought him home for Christmas. But there was something open and honest and sincere about his face. Her parents would grow to like this young man. She had asked him what he wanted to do after he graduated, and he had launched into a rambling monologue about city planning and Le Corbusier the architect. "I think he was the first of the modern city planners," Alan was saying, "he wanted to avoid the dirt and moral decay he saw in industrialized cities. He wanted to plan communities that people could live in. Clean, open, cities, designed for maximum efficiency. That's what I'd love to do."

She smiled as he paused to take a breath. "So you want to go into architecture?"

"Not really. Engineers get involved in city planning too. We would design the infrastructure. Create the tools that the people would use. Remember Thomas J. Watson?"

"The guy who used to head IBM?"

"Yeah. He once said," Alan closed his eyes as if he were visualizing his credo, "'Design must reflect the practical and aesthetic in business but above all... good design must primarily serve people.' That's what I want to do – design the practical but primarily serve people."

Margaret chuckled as someone handed Alan the bong. "And this is how you serve people, Alan Eppes? You find a more efficient way for them to get stoned? Will your community of the future be populated with rambunctious potheads?"

Alan studied her face, trying to decide if she was kidding or criticizing. He decided she was kidding. He took a hit off the bong and handed it to Margaret, who took a hit and paused to study his handiwork as she released the smoke slowly. He felt the need to explain to this thoughtful young stranger. "Well, this is just practice, you know? It was a challenge more than anything. And," he added with a sheepish grin, "a way to earn a little badly needed cash."

"So how does one go about designing a better bong?" Her expression was neutral, but a smile danced in her blue eyes.

Alan felt the heat rising to his face. He turned his attention to the bong in her hands. "The point of a bong is threefold. It cools the smoke, hunidifies it and filters out carcinogens."

"It also gives you a much bigger bang for your buck," Margaret added, studying the smoke that accumulated in the body of the bong.

"True. So the idea is to insert the tubes in the correct locations so the smoke passes through just enough water to do the job, and to carry the smoke efficiently to the user."

She ran her fingers around the junctions where the tubes entered the bong. "A nice, tight insertion point that doesn't allow leakage, and is at the perfect angle for the maximum effect." She handed the bong to the young man who stood waiting impatiently. "I must say, I'm learning a great deal about engineering tonight." The smile that had danced in her eyes lit up her whole face. "You're a very interesting person, Alan Eppes."

He touched her face, not demanding, just a whisper of contact. "As are you, Margaret Mann. Would it be too forward of me to suggest we spend a little more time getting to know each other a little better? Say over an omelet and coffee at the All Night Egg Plant?"

"I think that's an excelllent idea. It pays to explore all the possibilities. And I love the Egg Plant." She nodded in the direction of the bong. "And you can treat me with some of your ill-gotten gains."

Author's Note: The All Night Egg Plant is a 24 hour restaurant in Syracuse that has been a favorite of students and locals for at least 3 decades. Through the magic of fiction, I was able to transport it to wherever this story takes place.


	9. Changes

15 Minute challenge -- "Changes" 

302 words

19 minutes

Alan wrapped items and gently placed them inside the cardboard box on the table. Margaret sat across the table from him, examining knickknacks. "What about Grandma Mann's fake Hummels?"

Alan raised an eyebrow. "That's completely up to you, sweetie. But if it were up to me, they would go into the garage sale box."

"They're ugly. I think it's time someone else enjoys them." She placed them carefully into a box marked "AWAY!" She reached into the breakfront and pulled out a teddy bear. Behind the bear was an item she hadn't seen in years. "Alan!" she said, pulling the item out of the cabinet and holding it up. "Look at this!"

"Oh my gosh!" Alan walked around the table and sat beside her. "I thought we'd gotten rid of that long ago." She handed it to him, and he blew the layer of dust from it. He ran his fingers gently over the surface.

"Bong 2.0, I believe," Margaret rested her palm on her belly. "Ooh, he just kicked." Glancing around at the results of the day's childproofing, she laughed. "I think he wants us to keep it."

"Why? It's probably illegal to even own this thing, let alone use it."

Margaret shrugged, "Illegal to use, yes. To own, no. Besides, it's a family heirloom. I know we've gone through a lot of changes since you made that, but it's part of who we are. One day, we'll sit down with our 2.1 children and share the story of how we met."

Alan thought for a moment, then shook his head vehemently. "Oh, no. I think we're going to have to make a few changes in the story." Admiring the bong before wrapping it and placing it in the 'keep' box, he said, "We don't want to set a bad example."


	10. Charged

"Charged" 

"Guilty as Charged"

Alan pulled into the driveway, smiling as he noticed Don's SUV and Charlie's Prius were there ahead of him. His meeting had lasted longer than expected, and he hadn't had a chance to start supper. Charlie was starting to take more responsibility around the house, so Alan was reasonably sure supper would be waiting when he walked in the door.

Don and Charlie were just finishing setting the table and both looked up when the door opened. They were both grinning like Cheshire cats, and Alan had to stop and think. It wasn't his birthday. It wasn't Father's Day. It wasn't either boy's birthday. So obviously they were up to something. He put his briefcase down, took off his jacket and gave them what he hoped was his most piercing gaze. "What are you two up to?"

Don suppressed a grin. Charlie wasn't quite as successful and had to turn to straighten a perfectly straight napkin. When he had composed himself, Charlie turned back. "Dad, we need to have a talk. Supper will be a few minutes yet, so why don't we have a seat in the living room?"

Dumbfounded, Alan followed his sons into the living room. They sat side by side on the couch, and Don indicated the chair across from the couch. "Have a seat, Dad."

Alan had a feeling that this was how criminals felt when Donnie interrogated them. But he sat and waited.

Don picked up a paper bag from the floor and placed it on the coffee table. "Dad, is this yours?" He pulled a bong from the bag and set it on the table.

Alan saw his life flashing before his eyes. He wondered if Margaret had been wrong thirty some odd years ago when she said possession of a bong was not a crime. He forced himself to meet Don's eyes. "Yes."

Don picked up the bong, opened it, and sniffed deeply. "This is not tobacco I'm smelling."

"No, Donnie, it is not."

"Where did you get this?"

"I made it. Back in college."

"And you clearly possessed marijuana at that time."

Alan shrugged. "Guilty as charged." He held out his hands, wrists together. "You wanna cuff me, G-Man?"

Don laughed. "Nah. I think the statute of limitations has expired on this one. Charlie was digging through some boxes in the basement and came across this bong."

"Yeah," Charlie said, grinning broadly. "I probably shouldn't have admitted to Don that I recognized it immediately."

Don scowled at his brother. "Great. I'm surrounded by potheads." He grinned at his father. "Anyway, Dad, we both decided that there must be a very interesting story behind this particular family heirloom. I brought over a couple of six packs of your favorite beer, and told my team that under no circumstances am I to be interrupted."

Don and Charlie leaned back, arms folded across their chests. "So, Father," Charlie said, "now that you've pleaded guilty as charged, we'll need to take your statement. Start at the beginning. Exactly when did you embark on this life of crime?"


	11. Richard Feynman's Ghost

15 minute challenge "Ghost"  
"Richard Feynman's Ghost"  
14 minutes  
372 words  
one confession

Charlie and Don had confronted Alan about the bong Charlie had found, and Alan had admitted to having designed and built it. Now, after dinner, the three men sat in the living room, the sons waiting for the father to tell them the whole story.

Alan took a sip of the beer Don had so thoughtfully provided. Probably trying to loosen his old man's tongue, Alan thought. "I'll tell you the whole story, boys, but first I need to know one thing."

"What's that?" Don asked.

"Charlie, you said you recognized the bong for what it was immediately. May I ask where you acquired such an easy familiarity with drug paraphernalia?"

Charlie chuckled nervously and glanced at Don for help.

Instead of coming to his rescue, his Fed brother leaned forward. "Yeah, Chuck, how do you know so much about bongs?"

Charlie sighed. "All right. It happened in Princeton..."

"Your mother was supposed to be keeping an eye on you, young man," Alan scolded.

"She did. But she wasn't with me 24/7, Father. Larry got me interested in reading Richard Feynman's writings. After I read some of his lectures, I came across his autobiography."

Alan nodded. "Surely, You're Joking, Mr. Feynman, right?"

"Very good. Anyway, you remember how I told you that I was trying to make sense of all the different aspects of my life, and that I didn't have a lot of great role models."

"I remember that conversation. You mentioned Einstein divorcing his wife and marrying his cousin."

"Ew," Don said. "Chuck, you're not related to Amita, are you?"

Charlie gave Don a withering gaze and continued. "Well, Feynman got involved in experimenting with sensory deprivation tanks and the hallucinations they produced. He mentioned smoking marijuana as a shortcut to the hallucinations. And since I didn't have access to a sensory deprivation tank..."

"You chose the next best thing." Alan shook his head as he sipped his beer. "You always were curious."

Charlie smiled at his father. "I trust you mean that in the best possible way."

"Oh, of course I do, son." He glanced at the bong. "I wonder what your mother thinks about this."

Don chuckled. "She probably was disappointed he didn't use the family bong."


	12. Son of Marijuana, a Sheepskin and Thou

Message  
20 minutes  
485 words  
2 confessions

"Son of Sheepskin, Marijuana and Thou"

Charlie stood and headed to the kitchen. "Anybody want another beer before we hear Dad's story?"

"My story?"

"Yeah," Don said, "you thought you could distract us by asking Charlie how he knew what a bong was. No such luck, Pop. You're dealing with an experienced interrogator here. So after Chuck brings us each another beer, you are going to spill the beans."

Alan laughed. "All right, Fed." Once he had a fresh beer in hand, Alan recounted the story of the fraternity and the bong and the incredible young lady he met at the bong's initiation party.

Charlie picked up the bong and turned it in his hands, studying it closely. "No wonder you didn't want to get rid of this," he said softly.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Alan said, "Charlie, one thing I don't understand: how did you manage to keep your – uh – experimentation with pot a secret from your mom?"

"You mean she never told you? She said she was going to tell you and you would make sure we never went back to Princeton."

Don blinked in surprise. "Really, Charlie? She must have been really upset."

"She never told me," Alan said.

"It really wasn't a big deal. I just smoked it the one time at Princeton."

Don chuckled. "I caught that qualification, Chuck. But I'm not going to ask you how many times you smoked it elsewhere."

"So," Alan persisted, "how'd you do it?"

"I don't know if I should..."

"Go ahead," Don urged. "Don't worry. I won't let Dad ground you."

"It's my house anyway," Charlie muttered. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "All right. Remember that sheepskin jacket you bought me that winter?"

"Yeah," Don said, "I figured you would be so cold back east. And then you went and lost it."

"I didn't lose it. I ... I traded it."

"What?" Don sputtered. "You traded it. Oh man, Charlie, you didn't trade it for pot, did you?"

"I did. There was this young woman in my class. She was, well, she was a lot older than me."

"Everybody was older than you," Don said, smirking. "And you and she..."

"No! It wasn't anything like that. I knew she... well,... she would know how to get her hands on marijuana. And she loved the jacket. So..."

Alan regarded his younger son with amusement. "I hope you got your brother's money's worth. And how'd your mother find out?"

Charlie shrugged and took a sip of beer.

"Come on, Charlie! It's true confessions night in the Eppes household," Alan said. "So spill the beans. How'd your mother figure out you were smoking pot."

"Well, now that I know the whole story," Charlie said, "I suppose it all makes sense. She smelled it on me. And, since I didn't have the advantage of the family bong, the smoke was pretty harsh. I couldn't stop coughing."


	13. introspective

15 minutes

336 words

2 papers 20 years apart

"Introspection"

In the push to "publish or perish," Charlie had dragged out some of his old work, including a paper he had written in eleventh grade about the mathematics of the friendship dynamic. When he pulled out the paper, Amita had jokingly called it "A Charles Eppes Retrospective."

Later, when Amita had pressured him, yet again, to work on the paper, he had admitted, "The numbers aren't transcending. They're not finding the humanity." His math, even at thirteen, had been solid, but the basic assumptions he had made had been colored by the immaturity of a thirteen year old genius whose social skills hadn't been allowed to develop normally because of his intellectual gift.

Now, he sat in the garage, alone, deep in introspection. They had just finished a case where a warped sense of friendship had resulted in two murders and one case of what would probably be classified as involuntary manslaughter or some such thing. The paper, written by a socially inept thirteen year old who had hoped his math would help him find the magic formula that would create friendships for him, now looked different. He could see the errors in his assumptions. Charlie was now approaching his mid-thirties. He was no longer alone. He had a girlfriend who loved and understood him. He had friends. Real friends, not just people who, like Brett Chandler's friends, were just looking for what they could get. His big brother had become one of his best friends, and he even saw his father as a friend.

He realized he had now what he was missing when he had written that paper. The math was not giving him the key to create friendships. The friendships were feeding the math. He smiled to himself, filled the chalkboard with expressions that actually made sense, and sat down to write.

The Charlie Eppes Retrospective had become the Charlie Eppes Introspective.

Author's note: Amita didn't really say that, but it works for the story.


	14. Halloween

15 minute challenge "Halloween"

19 minutes

429 words

2 brothers

Twelve year old Donnie Eppes straightened his Indiana Jones hat and picked up his bullwhip. Looking at his watch, he pounded on his brother's bedroom door. "Charlie! Come on! It's eight minutes after seven already! All the other kids have been trick or treating for eight whole minutes!"

"Go on without me," Charlie's voice was barely audible. "I can't get this stupid Einstein wig right."

Donnie rattled the doorknob. "Aw, come on, Buddy! You locked me out?! Come on, let me in and I'll help you."

The lock clicked and Donnie pushed the door open, nearly knocking over a miniature Einstein with unruly brown curls sticking out from under his white wig. Charlie yanked off the wig and threw it onto the floor. "It's a stupid costume. Everybody else is gonna be superheroes, or Indiana Jones, or cool stuff. Why'd I pick..."

Donnie bent to pick up the wig. "Shaddup, Squirt and stand still." He took a handful of Charlie's curls in his left hand and pressed the wig down with his right. "Hold still, I almost got it." He slipped his left hand out from under the wig and began tucking the stray curls in. "We gotta get Mom to let you get your hair cut, Buddy. This is out of control."

Charlie giggled. "Benny says Mommy wanted a girl. That's why she keeps my hair so long."

"Benny's a dweeb. Mommy and Daddy were hippies back when they were young. They like long hair."

"So why's your hair so short, Donnie?"

Donnie shrugged. "I do sports. It's hard to do sports with long hair."

Charlie giggled again. "Yeah, you'd have to put it in a pony tail under your baseball cap."

Donnie gave Charlie a playful punch on the shoulder. "Come on. You want candy or not?"

"Candy!!!!!" Charlie yelled, running out of the room.

Don shook his head and picked up Charlie's slide rule. "Don't forget this ... whatever this thing is, Einstein!"

Charlie stopped. "It's a slide rule, Donnie. Want me to show you how to use it?"

"I'd rather use a calculator, Buddy." Don checked his watch again, "Crap, it's quarter after already. Let's get a move on."

"Oooh, I'm gonna tell Mommy you said, 'crap.'"

Don grinned, "What did I say?"

"Crap!"

"I dunno, Buddy. I only said it once. You said it twice. Who's gonna get in more trouble?"

Charlie's eyes widened and he clapped his hand over his mouth.

"Don't worry. I won't tell," Donnie put his arm around Charlie's shoulders. "Get your bag and let's get going before all the candy's gone."


	15. Thanksgiving

"Thanksgiving"

425 words

21 minutes (but I was watching "Bones" while I was writing. That's gotta count for something!)

Two coasts

"Mom!" Charlie opened the apartment door. "I'm home!"

Margaret looked up from her case files, scattered around the kitchen table. "Hi, Sweetie. How was your class?"

"Great! Dr. Fleinhardt is awesome."

Margaret smiled. Charlie had blossomed since they had arrived at Princeton. His mind was being challenged for the first time in a long time, and it was wonderful to see him smiling again. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself here, Honey."

"I am! But you know what? We get a whole week off next month for Thanksgiving. That's more than enough time to go home and see Dad and Don."

Margaret's face fell. She turned away and picked a folder up from the table. "I'm sorry, Charlie. We can't afford to go home for Thanksgiving."

Charlie sat, tears springing to his eyes. "But..." Suddenly understanding crossed his face. "Donnie was right..."

"Right about what?"

"You guys can't afford to do anything because of me. He said if I hadn't wanted to come here..."

"He's wrong, Honey. We have two sons in college. It's not your fault any more than it's Donnie's fault. Most families with one kid in college have to cut back on expenses. With two, well, it's just that much harder. I wish we could go home, but it's impossible. I'm sorry. We will go home for winter break, though. I promise you."

But Charlie wasn't listening. He was gazing down at his hands. The tears had gone from his eyes, and he had an expression on his face that Margaret was very familiar with. He was lost in some mathematical limbo. She smiled and stood to clear the table so she could start supper.

For the next few weeks, Charlie didn't mention Thanksgiving. He didn't seem upset. He was just caught up in his work. But Margaret did notice that the first thing he did every day was check the mail. Finally, a week before Thanksgiving, he picked up an envelope and let out a whoop.

"Charlie! What's wrong?" Charlie dropped his backpack on the floor and ripped the envelope open. He waved a piece of paper and held it up for Margaret to see. "A check?" She held his hand and took the paper. "From the Journal of Applied Mathematics? For four thousand dollars?"

"They published my paper. Now we can go home for Thanksgiving!"

"When did you send them a paper?"

"The day after you told me we couldn't afford to go home for Thanksgiving. Wait until Donnie sees that my math is good for something. He won't believe it!"


	16. Hanukkah

337 words  
32 minutes  
8 days  
1 heritage

December was a very difficult month for someone like Charlie Eppes who didn't believe in God. He sighed, put down his chalk and went in search of his father. He found Alan in the back yard, pruning a rose bush. "Dad?"

"Charlie! Are you ready for lunch?"

Charlie glanced at his watch and shook his head. "Nah. Well, yeah, maybe. But I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What, Son?"

"How come we were never religious?"

Alan shrugged. "I really don't know. My family was pretty religious, I guess. You mother's family, not so much. And when you and Donnie were little, we thought it was unfair to indoctrinate you into a particular religion."

Charlie nodded. "I guess that makes sense. That way we could make an unbiased decision when the time was right. But.. but I can't help but feeling we missed out on something important. I mean, your parents celebrated Hanukkah, right, with the menorah..."

"The chanukiyah," Alan corrected him. "The Hanukkah menorah is called a chanukiyah."

"The chanukiyah. They lit a candle each night, right, for the eight days of Hanukkah."

"They did. I still have their chanukiyah. It's packed away."

"Could we get it out this year? Could we do the whole eight days of Hanukkah?"

Alan raised his eyebrows. "You're not just looking for eight presents are you?"

Charlie scowled at his father. "No! It's nothing like that. Remember when we worked on that stolen painting case? The Jewish lady whose Pissarro was looted by the Nazis and then stolen again here in LA?"

"Of course. How could I forget that case. You and Donnie did a wonderful thing for Mrs. Hellman, getting her painting back. Why?"

Charlie shrugged. "While we were working on the case, Don asked me why I thought we weren't religious. I guess now that it's December, and Hanukkah is coming up, and Christmas, I thought I'd ... Never mind. It's not important."

Alan put his arm around Charlie's shoulders. "Come on. Help me dig out that box."


	17. Christmas

21 minutes  
484 words  
Two newlyweds  
Two holidays  
One tree

Margaret Eppes had always wanted a Christmas tree, and Jewish or not, Alan Eppes was going to honor her wishes. The problem was, he really didn't know much about Christmas trees. His family had been religious Jews, and were scandalized when their little boy became a hippie. He hated to think of their reaction when they came to visit and saw the tree.

He walked down the aisle of the discount store, overwhelmed by the selection of lights, doodads and decorations. If he'd had half a brain, he would have brought Margaret along. But, no, he wanted to surprise her. She was taking her bar exam today, and he thought this would brighten her day.

Speaking of brightening, he was going to have to pick out some lights. He picked up a package of big multicolored lights. The tree tied to the roof of his car was only five feet tall. These lights would overwhelm the little Charlie Brown tree. Next to the big lights were little twinkle lights. Those would work. Now to figure out how many packages he'd need. He tried to picture the circumference of the tree and estimate how many feet of lights he would need. He settled on four packages.

Ornaments. The individual ornaments caught his eye first. But when he figured out how many he'd need, he knew they would be way too expensive. He settled for eight boxes of shiny balls. Someone had said that you should put large ornaments on the bottom and smaller ones at the top. So that implied that he should buy various sizes. Then tinsel. He got the impression that tinsel was mandatory. Though he'd heard you shouldn't use tinsel if you had a cat. Well, he and Margaret had no pets, so the tinsel should be safe. He tossed four boxes into the cart.

When he got to the checkout line, the clerk glanced at his collection and smiled. "First Christmas tree?"

"Yes ma'am. I'm Jewish, and my wife, well, she wants a tree. So I had to start from scratch."

"What a sweetheart you are," she said. "Do you have your tree already?"

"Tied to the roof of my car," he said proudly.

"How about a stand?"

"A what?"

Glancing at the line of impatient shoppers behind Alan, the clerk called the bag boy over. "Tommy, would you get this gentleman a Christmas tree stand?"

"Sure Miss Davis. What kind?"

Seeing Alan's panicked expression, Miss Davis said, "Grab him the P-100. It's exactly what he needs." When Tommy headed off for the Christmas aisle, Miss Davis continued ringing up the rest of Alan's order. She glanced up at him, smiling, "It's also our cheapest, sturdiest stand. You go to this much trouble to please your wife, and the two of you will be enjoying that stand for the next fifty Christmases."

Alan chuckled. "From your lips to God's ears."


	18. Boxing Day

15 minute "boxing day"

17 minutes

383 words

2 brothers

1 misunderstanding

Margaret Eppes carried her cup of coffee into the living room, stopping to turn on the Christmas tree lights before she curled up on the couch. Setting her cup on the coffee table, she picked up her novel. Alan was at work, and the two boys were still sleeping. Don and Charlie had overdoseded on candy and gifts yesterday. She didn't expect to see them until at least noon. She chuckled at the thought of two Jewish boys believing in Santa Claus. Donnie was nine, and she knew it was time they told him that Santa wasn't real, but she didn't have the heart...

The sound of scuffling feet upstairs interrupted her reverie. Judging from the location, it was Charlie. She held her breath, hoping it was just a quick bathroom trip. She loved her four year old dearly, but she had been looking forward to the peace and quiet of the day after Christmas.

The footsteps moved into Donnie's room and Margaret breathed a sigh of relief.

A few minutes later, the scuffling compounded, this time coming from Donnie's room. She wondered what they were up to, but she didn't wonder enough to get up and check. There was no screaming, no yelling, so everything was...

"Owwwww! Mommyyyyyyy!"

Margaret sighed and stood, wrapping her robe around her and tying the belt. When she was halfway up the stairs, Charlie appeared at the top of the steps. "Mo-om! Donnie hit me!" Sure enough, blood dripped from his nose.

She swept Charlie up in her arms and carried him to the bathroom. "Donnie! Get out here NOW!"

Donnie opened his door.

Margaret beckoned him into the bathroom. "Get in here and tell me what is going on. Why did you hit your brother?"

Donnie stepped into the bathroom, his face a blend of dread and defiance. "I had to, Mommy."

"You had to? Donnie, you did not have to hit a four year old and give him a bloody nose."

Donnie held up his hands, encased in the mittens his aunt had knitted for him. Charlie had stopped crying and solemnly held up his own hands. He was also wearing his new mittens. "We had to, Mommy. Donnie was readin' his calendar, and today is Boxing Day."


	19. New Year

7:23-7:47

24 minutes

658 words

two co-conspirators

one hot date

The morning of December 31, 2007, the Eppes household was abuzz with activity. Don and Charlie had finished working on a case that had left both of them worn out. They had come home just after midnight, and Don had decided not to risk driving back to his apartment. Even though he grumbled, Alan enjoyed having both of his boys home. He had gotten up at the crack of dawn to start a pot of coffee and bake some muffins.

Charlie wasn't sure which scent had awakened him. It didn't much matter. His fatigued brain craved caffeine and his empty stomach rumbled at the scent of Dad's orange cranberry muffins. He got dressed and almost walked into Don in the hallway. "Hey," Don said in greeting, "morning, Buddy."

"Morning, Bro. You after the muffins and coffee too?"

Don grinned. "Yeah. With Dad baking we don't need alarm clocks. Hey, have you asked him yet?"

"Sorry. I was a little busy with a certain serial killer case for a certain FBI agent."

"We're running out of time. Let's ask him now."

They followed their noses to the kitchen and arrived just in time to see Alan pulling a pan of muffins from the oven. "I'm sorry," Alan said, though it was clear he was anything but sorry, "Did I wake you up?"

Don smirked as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "No. It was the neighbor's rooster crowing."

"The neighbors have a rooster?" Charlie looked confused.

"No," Alan said as he carefully lifted the muffins from the tin and placed them on a rack to cool. "Don't you recognize irony when you hear it?"

"Not until I have at least one cup of coffee. Hey, Dad, Don and I were wondering if you'd like to come with us tonight."

"I told you, Millie and I have plans."

Charlie grinned, shaking his head. "What you didn't tell us was that she has plans in Chicago and you have plans here."

"How'd you find out?"

"Amita and I tried to reach Millie yesterday afternoon. We found out she's visiting some relatives in Chicago. Now, do I have to turn the feds loose on you, or are you going to come clean? You were planning on sitting around here alone all night, weren't you?"

"And what exactly is wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Don soothed. "Nothing at all, Dad. But we would like to have you come along."

"Sure, and I'll bet your dates would be thrilled to have a fifth wheel along. Besides, I don't have a tux for that ritzy ball you're going to."

"Liz and Amita picked one out for you after we found out you were lying," Don narrowed his eyes at his father, accusingly.

"Lying is such a nasty word..." Alan protested weakly.

"It is," Charlie said, "how about obfuscating? Or dissembling? Come on, Dad. The girls really want you to come along. And you won't be a fifth wheel. Amita's Aunt Rachel is in town from Chennai. She's a widow and an engineer. And she's refusing to come along with us tonight because she doesn't want to be a fifth wheel."

"So, Dad," Don spread his hands, "you wouldn't be a fifth wheel. You'd be a date for a hot Indian widow. And Millie won't need to be jealous because Rachel Ramanujan will be on the other side of the world in a few days, never to be seen again."

Alan laughed. "All right! All right! I'll do it. But not because I don't want to be alone on New Year's Eve. To be honest, I was looking forward to watching Dick Clark, counting down the ball in Times Square and then going to bed."

Don and Charlie exchanged glances, then burst into laughter.

"What? You don't believe me?" Alan tried to scowl, but couldn't stop his grin. "Hot Indian widow, you say? Why does this sound like the last spam I got in my email?"


	20. Romance cliche heaving & throbbing

2 prompts  
3 handymen  
304 words

Don opened the front door of the craftsman. "Charlie? Dad?" No answer. He walked into the living room. Empty. The kitchen. Also empty. Charlie's car was in the driveway, so the garage was his next stop. Empty.

Finally, he headed out to the back yard. Bingo. Charlie and his bosom buddy, Larry, were knee deep in the koi pond, heaving rocks onto the grass beside the pond. "Hey, Buddy!" he called, earning a startled yelp from his brother. "Sorry," he said in a tone of voice that conveyed exactly how un-sorry he really was. "You guys having fun?"

"A riot," Charlie's snarled. "You want to help?"

"Sure," Don sat down, took off his shoes and socks, and rolled up the legs of his jeans. "Whaddya need me to do?"

"I'm putting in a new fountain, and I need it sixteen inches deeper right here."

"So you're moving sixteen inches of rock."

"Funny. At least sixteen inches." Charlie grunted as he lifted a slippery rock. "You gonna help, or you gonna nitpick?"

Don took the rock from Charlie's hands. "Step aside and let a manly man do the job. No offense, but you guys are not exactly weight lifters"

"Actually," Larry picked up a rock and tossed it onto the grass, "since I joined NASA, I have drastically increased my physical regimen."

"That's good," Don said, lifting another rock. "Hey, Chuck..." At that exact moment, Don's foot slipped and the agent flailed and fell backwards into the koi pond. His shoulder slammed into the bank and he grunted in pain. Charlie and Larry scrambled to help him onto the bank.

"What is going on out here?" Alan demanded as he walked into the back yard.

"Nothing," Don snarled, rubbing his throbbing shoulder.

Charlie burst into laughter. "Don was just impressing us with his manhood."

Author's note: We were chatting about romance novel cliches and decided to use the challenge words "heaving" and "throbbing" in a PG-13 manner.


	21. Valentine

19 minutes

447 words

One Valentine

Valentine's Day was one of the worst possible days in a miserable senior year of high school for Charlie Eppes. At 13, he was much younger, much smaller, and a lot less mature than the seventeen and eighteen year old boys in his class. Of course, he was old enough to find the girls in the class very attractive, but he was too young for them to even notice him.

The only girl who seemed to treat him as a real human being was Val Eng. She was his lab partner, and she was actually nice to him. He knew he and the fat kid with the Coke bottle glasses were the only ones who were pretty much guaranteed NOT to receive a single valentine. But he also knew that he wanted to do something special for Val.

On February twelfth, he sat down across from his mother at the dining room table. "Mom? You're a girl..."

Margaret tried unsuccessfully to stifle a smile. "Yes, I am."

"I want to do something special for a girl in my class, and I need some help."

Margaret bit her lower lip and touched Charlie's cheek. "Oh, Sweetie..."

"I know, I know. I can do the math, Mom. She's five years older than me. To her, I'm a little kid. But she's actually nice to me. I want to get her something. Would it be okay if I gave her a box of chocolates and a pretty card?" He smiled wistfully. "I'd like to get her some roses, but that would probably be too much." He glanced up hopefully at his mother. "Wouldn't it?"

"I think the chocolates and card would be just right. I'd skip the roses." Once again, her heart broke for her younger son. It was a mistake to let him skip so many grades. He could run circles around his classmates in math, but he was such a little kid. And situations like this just made her wish she could turn back the clock.

Charlie nodded sadly. "I'll buy her the biggest, best box of chocolates I can afford. And I'll find the prettiest card." He smiled as he stood. "Thanks, Mom." He was halfway up the stairs when he stopped. "I know! I'll buy her roses when I take her to the prom!" Before Margaret could object, he was up the stairs and gone.

She should follow him and explain that he was just setting himself up for yet another heartbreak. But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to do it. He said this girl was nice. Maybe, just maybe, she'd be nice enough to accept Charlie's invitation to the prom in a couple of months.


	22. Sadie Hawkins Day

28 minutes

432 words

29 days

Charlie Eppes was shuffling toward his locker when the Day-Glo pink poster caught his eye. "Sadie Hawkins Day Dance," he read. He turned to Leonard. "What's Sadie Hawkins Day?"

Leonard pushed his Coke bottle glasses up on his nose and sighed. "Just another chance for the geeks to feel left out. The girls get to invite the boys." He rolled his eyes. "Which means you and I and the rest of the chess club will be staying home Friday night."

Charlie smirked. "Just like every other Friday night." He opened his locker and hung his jacket up. "So who's Sadie Hawkins."

Leonard shrugged. "Every February 29th, the girls get to ask the guys out. I think it's from some comic strip or something."

"Hey, Buddy," Don called as he walked past, checking his watch, "You'd better get a move on. You're going to be late to homeroom."

Charlie shouldered his backpack and hurried after his brother. "Wait up!"

Don turned to one of his buddies. "Go on ahead." He waited impatiently for Charlie to catch up with him. "What's going on, Chuck?"

"Don't call me Chuck," Charlie muttered automatically. "What do you know about the Sadie Hawkins Day dance?"

Don shrugged. "Just that I've gotten three invitations already. Maybe you could do some math thing to help me pick out who I'd be most likely to score with."

Charlie felt his face turning red. "I... uh..."

"Forget it. I was just kidding. All I know is that the girls invite the guys. Have you been invited yet?"

Charlie grinned ruefully. "The probabilities of that happening are not good."

"Oh, man. I'm sorry, Buddy." Don pushed open the door to their homeroom. "I'll talk to you later. Hey, Mikey!" he let Charlie catch the door as he hurried to sit with his friends.

Charlie was used to that. Don was okay as long as none of his friends were around. He really couldn't blame him for not wanting to hang out with his little brother. But sometimes it hurt. Charlie sighed as he took his seat.

Val Eng turned around, smiling. "Hey, Charlie!" She noticed the look on Charlie's face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," Charlie lied.

Behind him, he could hear Don laughing with his friends. "...yeah, I can't decide. Maybe I'll say yes to two of them. Whaddaya think?"

Realization dawned on Val's face as Charlie cringed.

"Hey, Val," Don called. "You ask anybody to the dance yet?"

Val smiled sweetly. "I was just about to." She turned to Charlie. "Charlie, would you go with me to the Sadie Hawkins Day Dance?"


	23. Charlie and the magic number

417 words

26 minutes (give me a break! I'm rusty!)

One magic number

"Mom? Mom!" 

Margaret rolled her eyes and sighed. "In the kitchen, Charlie!" She forced herself to smile as her curly-haired five year old dynamo flew through the swinging door. "Slow down!"

"Mommy! I'm bored."

Margaret cringed. "I know, Sweetie. But I'm busy right now. Did you do the math homework your tutor gave you?"

It was Charlie's turn to sigh and roll his eyes as he held up his spiral notebook. "Hours ago! See? What else can I do?"

"How about a little science experiment?"

"Cool! What?"

Margaret walked to the junk drawer and pulled out a tape measure. "Have you heard of pi?"

"Pie?" Charlie glanced at the tape measure in confusion. "Like lemon or apple or cherry?"

"Nope, Sweetie. Pi is a magic number."

Charlie scowled. "I don't believe in magic, Mommy."

"Well, try this. I want you to measure as many circles as you can find. First, measure the circumference..."

"The cir... circum... what's that?"

Margaret laughed and got a glass from the cupboard. She wrapped the tape measure around the glass. "The circumference, honey. It's the distance around the outside of the circle. Now you write that number down."

Charlie looked at the tape measure. "Ten n' a half inches, right?"

"Right. Now write it in your notebook. And measure across the circle, right at the middle. That's called the diameter."

Charlie squinted at the tape measure. "It's about three n' a third."

"Good! Now write that next to the circumference."

"Okay. Now what?"

"Go find as many circles as you can and write down their circumference and diameter. Then come back and I'll tell you what to do next."

"Okay, Mommy! See you later!"

Twenty minutes later, Charlie returned, a whole page of his notebook filled with pairs of numbers. "Now what?" he demanded. 

Margaret shifted the phone to her left ear and raised her right index finger. Charlie had seen that signal so many times he knew his mom was telling him to wait a minute. He sat down at the table and looked at the numbers. Suddenly, he could see it. His eyes widened as he began to write a third number next to each pair of numbers. Always the same. Give or take a little for mistakes in measuring. 

When Margaret hung up the phone and turned back to look at him, she smiled. "You see it, don't you, Sweetie? You see the magic number. That's called pi."

Charlie nodded, awestruck. "You were right, Mommy. It IS magic."


	24. St Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day

Ian Edgerton

9:03-9:27

24 minutes

266 words

1 embarrassed agent

Don paced in the conference room, waiting, waiting. When the door opened, relief crossed Don's face. "Ian! Thanks for coming in on such short notice. We really need your input on this case."

Edgerton shrugged. "Not a problem. As long as I get out of here in..." he glanced at his watch, "...five minutes, max, it's good. You got the file?"

Don handed him a file. "Okay, I gave you the highlights over the phone. I just need you to look through this information and tell me what you think. Hey, why don't you take your jacket off? The AC is acting up, and it's gotta be ninety degrees in here today."

"I'm fine," Ian tugged the zipper a little higher. "Can I take this with me and get back to you first thing tomorrow morning?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Nothing. I'll see you in the morning."

Ian turned to leave, but stopped when Don grabbed his arm. "Hey, I'm sorry if I interrupted something important."

Ian took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Everything's fine. There's just someplace I'm supposed to be. Now."

The conference room door opened and Megan peeked into the room, a green plastic bowler perched on her head. "Ian? You almost ready to go? The green beer is flowing down at Fiddlesticks, and I hear Granger talked you into wearing your green vest and bow tie tonight."

Don was stunned. "Ian? Are you blushing?"

"Shut up, Eppes," the sniper snarled as he stalked from the room.

Don burst into laughter. "And a happy St. Patrick's Day to you too, Ian!"


	25. Easter

Easter 

1:23-

"Why don't we have school tomorrow, Donnie?" Charlie asked as he and his big brother walked home from school.

"'Cause tomorrow's Good Friday." Donnie replied with the wisdom of his eleven years.

Charlie giggled. "An' a Friday without school is a good Friday."

Donnie ruffled Charlie's hair. "I thought you liked school, Buddy."

Charlie shrugged. "I like learning new stuff. But some of the other kids are mean." Charlie looked down at his feet and sighed, then looked back at Donnie. "What's Easter? Billy said I was weird because I don't celebrate Easter."

"Billy's weird," Donnie scoffed. "We're Jewish, and Easter isn't a Jewish holiday."

"Oh. Mommy buys Easter candy."

"Yeah, and she puts up a Christmas tree too. And we don't believe in Christmas. I think some of the stuff you just do because everybody else is doing it, you know?"

"We're not s'posed to do stuff just because everyone else does it."

"This is different, Squirt. See, most of the people in this country are Christians. So they have these holidays, like Christmas and Easter, and everybody kind of celebrates 'em, even if they don't believe in it, just 'cause most people are celebrating 'em. Get it?"

Charlie scowled and shook his head. "Not really." He suddenly grinned. "But I like the jelly beans!"

Donnie laughed and put his arm around his little brother's shoulders. "Me too. And the peeps. You gotta have peeps for Easter!"

"Yeah," Charlie grinned. "You gotta have peeps!"


	26. April Fool's

26 minutes

481 words

one shot across the bow

A racket that was not his alarm clock jolted Charlie Eppes from a pleasant dream. He struggled to open his eyes and pulled his arm out from under Amita. He sat up, trying to place the sound, and realized someone was pounding on the front door and ringing the doorbell.

Out in the hallway, he heard a bedroom door slam, and heard his father's voice. "All right! I'm coming! Hold your horses!"

Charlie stumbled to his bedroom door and pulled it open. "Dad?"

"Someone's at the door. It sounds like they're trying to break it down."

"Wait! Let me come with you. It could be a crazy man, or a strung out junkie or something."

"Oh, and you're going to protect your old man?" Alan huffed as he walked down the stairs.

Charlie pulled his robe around him and hurried after his father. "Yeah. You still keep the golf club by the door, right?"

Amita came up behind Charlie. "I've got mace in my purse."

"Bring it," Charlie said. "We might need it."

The pounding and ringing continued unabated while Charlie grabbed a golf club and Amita pulled the can of mace from her purse. Alan pulled the door open. "What?!" he demanded.

At least twenty people stood in front of the house. The guy closest to the door tried to push his way past Alan. "We're here for the sale."

Alan put his hand on the door frame, blocking the man's path. "Sale?! You've got the wrong address! Now, go away!"

The man waved a sheet of paper in Alan's face. "This is the address in the ad."

"Ad?" Alan grabbed the sheet of paper and squinted at it. "I don't have my glasses. Charlie?" He turned and handed the paper to his son.

Charlie snatched the paper and read, "Once in a lifetime house sale! Entire contents of Pasadena Craftsman house, including original Stickley furnishings. Sale begins promptly at six AM Tuesday, April 1. Early birds and dealers welcome!" He handed the paper back to Alan. "It's our address."

Alan waved the paper at the man on his doorstep. "Where the hell is this from?"

"Craig's List," the man said, beginning to look a little worried. "You mean you're not having a sale?"

"Do we look like we're having a sale?" Alan snarled. He glared at the crowd -- the same glare that had earned almost instant obedience from two rowdy boys for over thirty years.

After the crowd had reluctantly left, Alan slammed and locked the door. He turned to face Charlie and Amita. "Three guesses who's behind this."

"Millie," Charlie nodded.

"Avril Sciocco strikes again," Amita said, stifling a grin.

"And this time, it's before noon," Charlie said with a chuckle.

Alan glanced at his watch. "We've got six hours to get even."

"Even?" Charlie sat down at the dining room table. "Even? We need to get ahead."


	27. More April Fool's

19 minutes

333 words

one more victim

Charlie Eppes yawned as he fumbled for his office keys. He had only had four hours of sleep when the crack of dawn prank by his boss had dragged him from his bed, and now he faced a full day of classes. He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. Nah. Not even Mildred Finch would hit him with two April Fool's pranks.

"Charles!" Charlie jumped, nearly dropping his coffee.

"Larry?" He turned, and watched the physicist barreling down the corridor. "What's wrong?"

"Charles! She's done it!"

Charlie pushed the office door open. "Come on in and tell me who's done what to whom and why."

"Are you aware of today's date?"

Charlie turned weary eyes toward his friend. "Believe me, Larry, I am only too aware that today is April first."

"One year ago today, Mildred Finch threatened to turn our worlds upside down."

Charlie lifted his coffee cup in a mock toast. "Well, happy anniversary. She succeeded."

"Oh no! What did she do to you?"

Charlie quickly described Millie's elaborate prank and the cluster of disappointed furniture shoppers who awakened Charlie, Alan and Amita. "So, I'm sensing we are not the only ones to suffer the wrath of Millie. What did she do to you?"

Larry slumped back in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands. "She took out a full page ad in Auto Trader magazine, offering my 1931 Model A for five hundred dollars. She listed my office and cell phone numbers and gave my home and office addresses! This is the first moment's peace I've had since five o'clock this morning."

Both men jumped at the sound of a knock on the door. A student stood in the doorway. "Professor Fleinhardt? Have you sold your car yet?"

Larry shook his head, burying his face in his hands. "The car is not for sale!" he wailed. When the student left, Larry leaned forward and said, "Cancel your classes! We've got four hours to get back at Professor Mildred Finch."


	28. April Fool's Finale or is it?

605 words

4 co-conspirators

2 prompts

who knows how many minutes!?

Dr. Mildred Finch sat in her office, glancing nervously at the door every time someone passed. It had been fun planning her revenge on Alan, Charlie, Larry and Amita after last year's April Fool's prank. But now she dreaded the next few hours, knowing that three geniuses and an engineer could wreak an awful lot of havoc.

She heard a quiet knock on the door, and looked up with dread. A pleasant looking dark haired man in a suit stood with a faint smile on his face. "Good morning. Mildred Finch?"

Millie stood, "I'm sorry. Please come in, mister..."

The man pulled an envelope from his suit coat pocket. "Howard Meeks." He shifted the envelope to his left hand and shook the hand Millie offered.

"Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"No thank you." He handed Millie the envelope. "I'm an Assistant US Attorney and this is a subpoena."

"A subpoena? For what?"

"We are investigating the California Institute of Science's involvement in a project for a government that is a known sponsor of terrorism."

Millie's eyes widened as she opened the envelope. "Which project?"

"Everything is explained in the subpoena. I suggest you contact the university's attorneys. You are required to appear in the court named in the subpoena in approximately three hours. Sorry for the short notice." Meeks turned and left the room without another word.

Millie sat, stunned, and read the subpoena.

Two hours and forty eight minutes later, accompanied by Mason Gibbs, the senior partner in the law firm that had represented Cal Sci for decades, Millie waited in line at the courthouse security check point. Gibbs had tsked and tutted over the inconvenience of having to appear with such short notice, but had assured Millie that the school was indeed being investigated by a federal court.

Millie felt a combination of outrage and dread as she removed all of her metal items and put them in the plastic bin. She hadn't had a lot of time to read up on the project, but as she'd said many times before, she was a quick learner. She was convinced that if Cal Sci were indeed consorting with a foreign government that sponsored terrorism, it was because they had been deceived. Their only contact had been with the head of a civilian company.

With a sigh, she walked through the metal detector and picked up her belongings again. As she settled her glasses on the bridge of her nose, she noticed the AUSA approaching her with a solemn look on his face.

"Mr. Meeks," Millie said, coolly. "This is Mason Gibbs, Cal Sci's attorney..."

"Come with me," the AUSA said, turning on his heels.

Millie exchanged confused glances with the attorney, but followed Meeks into a room just off the lobby.

"I am so sorry for this inconvenience," Meeks said, closing the door behind them. "I understand that this is highly irregular, but under the circumstances, I believe this is necessary."

Millie was about to complain when a door at the back of the room opened. Her jaw dropped as Alan, Charlie, Amita and Larry filed into the room, grinning broadly. She threw up her hands. "You win!" She turned to the lawyer. "I am so sorry. You've been caught up in a web of April Foolery that is stopping here and now!"

After quick introductions, Howard joined his friends and their victims for a well-deserved lunch. A truce was proposed and accepted. After dropping his three co-conspirators off at Cal Sci, Alan drove off, shaking his head. "I can't wait to see what happens next year."


	29. Taxes

38 minutes

2 brothers

447 words

Dr. Charles Eppes, tenured professor of applied mathematics at the California Institute of Science, past winner of the Milton Prize and world renowned for his Eppes Convergence, sighed as he read the notice for the third time.

"What's wrong, Chuck?" Don asked, with the annoying tone reserved for brothers. "Is that from the IRS?"

Charlie rolled his eyes at his brother. "You should know. You dig through my mail every time you walk through that door."

Don chuckled. "What's wrong? You being audited?" He saw his brother's scowl, and his jaw dropped. "You are! You're being audited! What'd you do, forget to carry the one?"

"They're contesting my business expense deductions. I've got to bring my documentation down to the office next Tuesday."

Don finally grew serious. "What expenses? It's got to be a mistake. Your records are always perfect."

Charlie flipped the pages until he found the details. His face grew red and he reluctantly met Don's eyes. "Remember when we were investigating that card counting scheme?"

"Yeah..."

"And Amita and Larry and I went to the casino..."

"Yeah..."

"Well, the IRS doesn't believe my gambling losses are a deductible business expense."

Don laughed. "What?! You mean you actually lost? Every time we play, you clean my clock."

"Maybe you just suck. Did you ever think of that?" Charlie shoved the audit notice back into the envelope and tossed it into the fluted bowl.

"Wait," Don said, his brow furrowed in thought, "You didn't turn in any receipts from the casino with your bill for that case. You didn't want me to know you lost, did you?"

"Do you blame me? I knew you'd give me a blast of crap."

Don put his arm over Charlie's shoulders and turned him toward the kitchen. "That's what brothers are for. Come on, let's get you a beer or two or three. You need it."

Charlie grinned. "You might as well enjoy drinking my beer while you've got the chance. Once the IRS finishes their audit, I may have to switch to the store brand."

Don grimaced. "You wouldn't!"

"Not if a certain FBI agent can get me some documentation supporting my business expense deduction."

"I'll make you a deal. You keep stocking the good stuff and I won't charge you with offering a bribe to a federal agent."

Charlie reached into the refrigerator and handed Don a beer. "You don't charge me with offering a bribe and I won't tell the accountants the real reason Robin wasn't out of her hotel room by checkout time."

"Charlie!"

Charlie twisted the cap off of his own bottle of beer. "As a great man once said, 'That's what brothers are for.'"


	30. Prom

31 minutes

457 words

2 seniors

1 prom

The Senior Prom. Even the geeks swallowed their fears and forced themselves to ask someone – anyone – to the Senior Prom. Charlie Eppes at thirteen was a full fledged geek, five years younger than his classmates. Well, he was only four years younger than Tommy McCain. And he was six years younger than Rocky the dumb kid. But even though he hadn't done the calculations, he felt safe in saying on average, he was five years younger.

When you're thirty, five years doesn't make a whole lot of difference. When you're thirteen, five years is an eternity. No eighteen year old girl in her right mind would date a thirteen year old. Charlie had to admit there was something pedophile-ish about the situation. But he knew one girl out of all of his classmates who wouldn't laugh at him.

Val Eng was sweet, funny and nice. She and Charlie were lab partners and friends. Val would understand. She wouldn't laugh. She'd go with him to the prom, and she'd make sure he had fun. Maybe she'd even kiss him goodnight.

But this was Val's Senior Prom, too. Charlie didn't want her to miss out on any fun by going with him. He studied the prom like he studied advanced calculus. He even went so far as to buy the prom issue of Seventeen Magazine. He decided on the corsage he would buy. He picked out the tuxedo he would rent.

Finally, he was ready to ask her. On the way to school, he decided to tell his ultra-cool big brother, Donnie. "Hey, Donnie..."

"Yeah, Buddy?"

"You know the prom is coming up, and I'm ready to ask someone. I know what kind of corsage I'm buying and everything."

"Cool! I've already got my date. I asked Val yesterday and she said yes."

Charlie blinked back the tears that stung his eyes. "I... uh... that's ... that's great, Donnie."

"Buddy?" Don stopped, staring at his little brother. "Oh, man. You were going to ask her, weren't you? You shoulda told me. I..."

"Don't worry about it, Donnie," Charlie forced a smile. "She likes you, you know."

"Really? You're not kidding me, are you?"

"Nah. She told me in lab a while back. She hates baseball but she goes to the games so she can watch you."

"She told you that? Really?" Donnie's voice squeaked like it hadn't since he was Charlie's age.

"Yeah, Bro," Charlie's smile was genuine now. "I'm glad she's going with you," he said as they walked up the steps to the school. "I've gotta meet with Mr. Rockwell for a few minutes. See ya." Before Donnie could say anything more, Charlie ran through the front door of the school and disappeared down the hallway.

Author's Note: That's just one guess at how the whole prom thing between Don & Charlie went down. It was inspired by two lines of dialog from "Soft Target": Don: "Kind of weird, Val getting married at our house., though, don't you think?" Charlie: "Uh huh. Even weirder because I liked her and you – you took her to the prom."

Author's Note: "prom" was supposed to be a one-shot, but Bookworm79 (Jenny) noticed a major error in my plot. So you have Jenny to thank for this second (and final) part of "prom"!

26 minutes

406 words

2 attempts

"And that's how I should have handled it. Well, looking at it logically, Don was a much better date for Val Eng," Charlie said with a shrug.

Amita snuggled against him. "So now, twenty one years later, you're finally able to look at it logically?" She reached up and ran her finger along his stubbly jawline. "So how did you really handle it? Before the twenty-one years of perspective and logic?"

"Not well," Charlie said with a sigh. "I was sitting next to the koi pond, reading that Seventeen Magazine I'd bought to study up on proms, trying to figure out the best way to ask Val. Don came out to the back yard. He was doing a dumb little celebration dance. You know, like the football players used to do in the end zone? So I asked him what was up."

"Oh no!" Amita gasped. "That's when he told you..."

"Yeah. He said, 'I just scored a date with the hottest chick in school, Buddy. I'm taking Val Eng to the prom.'"

"What did you do?"

Charlie gnawed his lower lip for a moment before answering. "I freaked out. I dropped the magazine and picked up a rock."

"You didn't!"

"I did. Good thing I was a crappy aim. I wanted to knock his head off with it. It hit his arm instead. Looking back, I should have aimed for his legs. At least it would have slowed him down. I got up and ran for my life. He caught me in the front yard and tackled me." He shook his head. "I was so angry, I ignored the fact that he was five years older, outweighed me by about twenty pounds, and was an athlete. I wailed away at him like I wanted to kill him."

"Obviously you didn't succeed."

Charlie chuckled. "No, I didn't. I did give him a black eye. He gave me a bloody nose. And Dad had to break it up. Afterwards, Donnie asked me what made me go off on him like that."

"What'd you tell him?"

"The truth. I told him was all ready to ask Val to the prom and he got there first."

"Aww. I'll be he got all big brothery and sorry."

Charlie laughed out loud. "You really don't know Don very well. He gave me four very wise words that I have tried to live by to this day. 'You snooze, you lose."


	31. Baseball

48 minutes

961 words

3 balls, 2 strikes

It was the last day of Don and Charlie Eppes' high school career, and their gym teacher had a special treat for his seniors. "Okay, gentlemen, because this is the last day of classes, I have gotten permission to extend our gym class for the rest of the afternoon. Since we have our two baseball co-captains in this class, I thought you'd enjoy a little friendly rivalry. Eppes and Nicotra! You will take turns picking teams and we will play baseball for the rest of the afternoon."

Don and the rest of the jocks cheered loudly. Charlie and the rest of the geeks groaned. Charlie turned to Tommy and muttered, "The perfect end to the high school career from hell."

Tommy sighed. "At least your brother will pick you, which will leave me the honor of being chosen last. Again."

"Don't be too sure about that. He's too competitive to worry about me. He'll pick the best team, and if I happen to be left when he gets his last pick, he MIGHT choose me. Maybe we'll get lucky and be on the same team."

Charlie decided to try making eye contact with his brother. Just to remind Don of his existence. Don glanced his way and made that "oh crap" face he had perfected through their high school career. Charlie looked down at his feet.

"Looks like you were right," Tommy said. "I guess a jock is a jock, even if he's family."

In a few minutes, the teams were set, except for Charlie and Tommy. Louie Nicotra nudged Don. "Hey, Eppes. You take your baby brother and I'll take the other geek."

Don shrugged. "Okay by me. Come on, Chuck."

Charlie jogged over to join his team as Don was setting his batting order. As he expected, he was dead last, the time honored position of the "easy out." He would be playing right field, the place least likely to see any opportunity to field the ball. Most of the kids were right handed, and most were pull hitters. Therefore, most fly balls went to left field. Donnie knew what he was doing.

Charlie's first at bat, he struck out swinging at three balls out of the strike zone. His last swing was so hard, it spun him around.

In the last inning, with two outs, two men on base, and his team down by two, Charlie came to bat again. "What do you want me to do?" He asked Don.

"Hit a home run?" Don said sarcastically. "Nah, that's not gonna happen. Listen, Billy likes to pitch inside. Lean in and let him hit you. That'll bring me up with the bases loaded."

"You want me to get hit?" Charlie squeaked. "He's throwing hard, Donnie!"

"You got a helmet. Trust me, Billy knows you're my brother. He won't do any permanent damage to you, or he'll have to answer to me."

The teacher, acting as umpire, turned toward the bench. "Little Eppes? You're up!"

Charlie crammed the helmet on his head, picked up a bat and dragged his feet all the way to home plate. He shouldered his bat and leaned over the plate. When Billy released the ball, Charlie closed his eyes. He felt the ball whiz past his head, and heard the teacher yell, "High! Ball one!"

Charlie had watched enough of Donnie's games to know that a walk was as good as a hit. Even better because it forced the pitcher to throw at least four pitches. He also realized that, as the smallest kid in the class, he had the smallest strike zone. So he hunched down as far as he could comfortably, took a half a step back away from the plate, and waited for the next pitch. Strike!

He hunched even further down. The next pitch whizzed past him. Ball! Charlie stifled a smile. This just might work. The next pitch was a ball. Three balls and one strike. Definitely a hitter's count. The next pitch whizzed right through the middle of the strike zone. Full count. The next pitch would decide it.

Charlie risked a glance at Donnie. His brother was gnawing his lower lip nervously, but he gave Charlie a little nod. That barely perceptible nod could be the green light to handle the at-bat his way, or it could have been a reminder of Don's instructions.

He hunched down, and took a step forward until his toes touched the plate. If the ball was a strike, it was going to hit him, and it was going to hurt. Charlie braced himself, determined not to cry. That would be even worse than corkscrewing that last at-bat. He hunched down as small as he could, his elbows nearly touching his knees, and closed his eyes. Even so, he flinched as he heard the pitcher grunt with his release. It whizzed over his head. "Ball four!" the teacher yelled, "Take your base!"

He opened his eyes and gave Don a shaky grin as he jogged to first base. The odds favored the leadoff batter, and the odds were not wrong. Donnie came to bat. In the last game of his high school career, he hit a grand slam homerun. For the first time in his high school career, Charlie crossed the plate and scored a run.

As they walked home, Donnie put his arm over Charlie's shoulders. "Hey, Buddy, you were really going to do it, weren't you?"

"Do what?"

"Let Billy hit you."

"Sure. Why not? It was late in the game, his arm was getting tired. I was wearing a helmet. The chances of me getting seriously injured were a lot less than the chances of getting thrown into the koi pond if I struck out again."


	32. Basketball

Basketball

1:53-2:18 562 words

By the time Don and Robin left the building, the sun was just beginning to rise. It was hard to believe that a mere seven hours ago, they had watched a hitman die for the one murder he hadn't committed. The governor's phone call that was just a minute too late complicated matters, and Don and Robin had spent the past seven hours being debriefed about their roles in the situation.

Finally, the powers that be were satisfied, and the two walked, arm in arm to Don's car. "Charlie's house is closest. Why don't we crash there?" Don asked.

Robin nodded numbly. "Sounds good to me. You going to be able to stay awake to drive there?" 

"Yeah," Don murmured as he unlocked the car. "With all the coffee I drank in there, I think my blood is half caffeine right now."

Don had exaggerated, of course. He had a hard time keeping his eyes open until he turned the corner and saw Charlie's house. "Robin," he said, nudging the dozing prosecutor. "Am I dreaming?"

The house was strewn with maroon and white streamers, and Charlie's formerly blue Prius had been transformed by a sloppy coat of what Don hoped was water soluble maroon paint. Robin muttered a curse and said, "I hope we're both dreaming. Has Charlie committed some bizarre scientific experiment?"

Don slapped his forehead. "The game. He and Dad and Larry were coaching the Cal Sci basketball team for the first time last night. Cal Sci has lost something like two hundred games in a row."

"They must have been trying to generate team spirit."

"That has to be it. It couldn't be a victory celebration with those three coaching."

Robin snorted as Don parked behind the maroon Prius. "As tired as I am, I need to solve this mystery before I crash."

Don tried the front door. Unlocked. He glanced at Robin as he pushed the door open. "Dad must be up. Chuck is definitely not a morning person."

Instead of the morning quiet he had expected, Don heard excited chatter coming from the living room. "Charlie?" He glanced dramatically at his watch. "You're awake at this hour? What's up?"

Charlie stood. He wore a white shirt, maroon tie, and gray dress slacks, but they were topped by a Cal Sci jersey that almost reached his knees. "Don! Robin! Hey, come on in! We're watching the video of last night's game."

"How bad was it, Buddy?" Don asked sympathetically.

"Bad? No, man, it was great! We won! Come on in!" Charlie led the way to the living room, where Alan dozed in his chair, and Larry was trying to pause the video. "You gotta see this."

Don and Robin let Charlie drag them into the living room. As Don watched the video, he shook his head. "Ringers? You brought in ringers? You know the game won't count."

"Of course it'll count," Charlie said. "Larry just added two teaching assistants."

"But they're Lakers. They're pros."

"I don't know how he did it. Who he bribed. Whatever. It doesn't matter. We won! The curse is broken! I'm thinking next year we'll be in the NCAAs."

"Charlie, Cal Sci is not a Division 1 school. They can't be in the tournament. The only March Madness you're going to see will be Millie's reaction when she finds out what you guys did."


End file.
